Barbed Wire Triage
Little men will always invite
maelstroms of venom into your life.
They pleasure-peck vulnerable beings.
Never caring that a heart needs freedom to beat.
At their core, selfishness of the purest form.
However, you're not the cure and never will be.
There's no balm for this color of rot; never will be.
But you're a fiery young, wide-eyed doe.
Until living strikes with barbed wire slaps to the soul.
I wish you and Mr. Little the very best.
Wish I could have steered you far, far away.
From that little reef that planted sirens in your head...
Sometimes love needs to step aside.
Then offer unconditional triage
till the mental bleeding subsides.
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